Chapter 19

Sarah had never felt so cold. She buried her gloved hands under Bean’s heavy mane and blinked ice crystals off her lashes. The wind continuously pelted her face with what felt more like BBs than snowflakes. Tucking her chin into the collar of her coat, she tried to look on the bright side. All of them were still alive. In fact, despite the cold, the trip down the road hadn’t been too bad, more monotonous than scary. Every time they came around a curve to a section of road overlooking Monroe, however, there seemed to be a new fire burning. At last count, there had been four.

The faint scent of smoke reached them, and Bean tossed his head uneasily.

“I know, Beanie,” she said softly, rubbing his neck with numb hands. “Not too much longer.” She hoped.

When the buried mountain pass came into view, Sarah wanted to cry. They’d come so far, only to be stopped so close to their destination. She was so cold, and every muscle in her body was both sore and exhausted. Mort had a slight limp, and Hortense was about as pissed-off-looking as a goat could be. Bob had stopped his steady, unhappy growling, but Sarah was pretty sure that was just because the cat was so miserable that he couldn’t even complain about it anymore. Only Bean and Xena had been still going strong.

As they drew closer to the rockslide, Sarah peered through the driving snow at the fallen boulders and trees. There was a strange shape at the base, a dark-colored square that was too symmetrical. Even with the snow partially covering it, she could tell that it couldn’t be natural. She walked Bean toward it. When he got close, he gave one of his long nervous snorts and shied.

Sarah realized what it was—a vehicle. The windshield was so cobwebbed with cracks that it was completely opaque. Her stomach lurched at the thought that someone had been driving on the road when the explosion had occurred. Sliding off Bean, she rushed toward the front of the van. Bean balked, not wanting to walk toward it. She tugged on the lead rope, and he reluctantly followed.

Dreading what she might find inside, she moved to the side. The driver’s door window was white from cracks, as well. Except for the broken windows, two flat tires, and a few serious dents, it looked like the van had escaped the worst of the explosion and subsequent rockslide. As she reached for the driver’s door handle, she hoped desperately that everyone in the van was okay and that they’d walked to safety.

Please be empty, she thought as she jerked open the door. A body toppled toward her, and she jumped back, inhaling a shriek. A man fell limply out of the driver’s seat and landed on his back in the snowy road. Sarah lunged toward the person, her brain spinning. Should she do CPR? She’d never been trained to do it. She didn’t even know how to check for a pulse. Even as the thoughts zipped through her mind, she realized that it was too late to help.

Above the glazed, dead eyes staring through her, there was a round hole. The man had been shot in the head. His legs were bent, as if he still sat in the driver’s seat, his body as stiff as a mannequin’s. Although Sarah didn’t know much about forensics, it was obvious that he’d been dead a long time. Sucking in short, loud breaths, Sarah stared at the body in front of her.

What should I do?

She forced herself to move to the other side of the van. There was nothing she could do for the driver. Questions were swirling through her head, which was fuzzy from shock. Who had shot him? Who was he? Why was he killed? Although she really, really did not want to open the front passenger door, she made her hand grip the handle. As the door swung open, she jumped back in anticipation, but no one fell. The woman had fallen the other way, toward the center. Sarah made herself get close enough to see the faraway, filmy stare and the missing back of her skull before she lurched back and vomited.

Even as she heaved, Sarah panicked. Someone had killed these two people. She needed to go, to find Otto. He’d know what to do. Before she could leave, though, she had to check the rest of the van. If someone else was in there, hurt but not dead, she needed to help them.

Spitting out the last of the bile, she heard Xena whine. The dog pressed against the side of Sarah’s leg, as if trying to console her. She reached down and stroked Xena’s silky-smooth ears, and the contact calmed her slightly. She needed to get this done and get the animals out of there.

Without thinking about it, in case she talked herself out of it, Sarah circled to the back of the van. The doors were ajar, and her hand trembled as she pulled one of them open. It was empty. Her breath escaped in a relieved whoosh, but then it caught again on the next inhale. The back of the van had molded bench seats running lengthwise on both sides. A black grill separated the back from the front, and three sets of open handcuffs lay scattered on the floor. Sarah’s heart stopped.

Three sets. Three prisoners.

Aaron. Jeb. Logan.

With a cry, she scrambled backward, tripping over Xena and toppling into the snow. The FBI had been scheduled to pick them up that day. It all made horrible sense. Both victims in their suits, the explosion, even Jeb and Logan’s strange abduction attempt. They’d wanted to get arrested, she realized. It had all been part of Aaron’s plan. She should’ve known that he wouldn’t give up that easily. What Aaron wanted, Aaron took. He wasn’t about to let her—and his chance at taking over the Jovanovics—escape from him.

She scrambled to her feet, wanting to run. “Calm down,” she muttered, hearing the high note of hysteria in her voice. “Calm down. Be smart.”

Xena leaned against her again, her furry body shaking. It helped Sarah to focus.

“Get the animals. Then find Otto.”

She looked around. Mort was a few feet away, watching her uncertainly. Hortense was pawing in the snow by the shoulder and eating the weeds she uncovered. Reaching back, Sarah touched the lump in her pack.

“You okay?” she asked Bob, and was rewarded by an annoyed growl.

Bean stood, head high and his eyes wide, a safe distance from the van. Sarah realized that she’d dropped his lead rope when she’d seen the first body. Her stomach squeezed as she remembered how long it had taken for him to approach her and Otto in the pasture. With him spooked and in a strange place, it could take hours to catch him.

Sarah approached on wobbly legs. The snow had gotten much deeper, and the drifts reached almost to her knees. “Hey, Bean,” she said softly. “Please don’t make this difficult.”

He let her get within six feet before shying back. Tamping down the voice in her head that was screaming Run! Hurry! Sarah slowed her steps, shuffling through the snow in a creeping crawl that made her want to scream with impatience. She needed to get away from the scene of Aaron’s latest crime, away from the bodies of his victims and the possibility that he might come back for her. It was so tempting to lunge for Bean’s lead rope, to chase him, but she knew that wasn’t the faster way. Fast is slow, Chester always used to tell her. With animals, fast is slow, and slow is fast.

She crept toward Bean, talking nonsense in a low voice that was as soothing as she could manage. He watched her nervously, his eyes so wide with worry that the whites showed. Slowly, slowly, she got closer. Bean threw up his head with a nervous snort, and she froze. She was so close. If he ran, and she had to do this again… Sarah forced herself to breathe and wait and be still. Bit by bit, Bean’s head lowered. Taking a tiny step and then another, Sarah carefully reached out. The lead rope was just out of reach. She shuffled forward, inch by inch, and her gloved fingers brushed the cotton rope.

She grabbed it, the feel of the rope safely caught in her fist making her want to cry with relief. No time for that. Although she agreed with the strict voice in her head, she stepped closer and pressed her forehead against Bean’s neck. He stood still, turning his head so that he could blow warm air down the back of her coat. She took a moment to breathe.

Soon, panic began creeping in again, and she knew they had to move. She walked Bean into a slight ditch next to the road to get him low enough that she was able to scramble onto his back. It wasn’t pretty, but she managed to get on. Once she was up, Sarah looked at the pile of rubble, being very careful not to look at the van or the body next to it.

On one side of the rockslide, the ground dropped off abruptly. On the other side, the rock face rose abruptly, almost as flat and smooth as a wall. As much as Sarah hated to do it, she turned Bean around and they backtracked, following the ridge until the slope gentled. There was the start of a deer trail snaking its way to the top of the rocky mass, and Sarah urged Bean to follow it. As they climbed, Bean’s metal shoes slipping occasionally against the smooth granite surface, Sarah prayed that the trail didn’t disappear or turn into something unnavigable.

When they reached the top, she briefly celebrated before starting to sweat again. Bean’s muscles bunched underneath her as he slid and scrambled down the slope. With just a halter, Sarah wasn’t able to control his speed. If he found it easier to rush down the slick trail, then he did just that. They reached a terrifyingly steep portion of the trail, and Sarah looked around for another option. There was none. Either they followed the trail, or they turned around and returned to the van and the murdered FBI agents. Clinging to Bean’s mane, she sat back and closed her eyes.

“Okay, sweet boy. I’m trusting you. Let’s get to the bottom safely, okay?”

Bean stepped onto the slope.